If You Live Inside The Old Graveyard
by shadowfire125
Summary: A series of five Rumpel-centric one-shots, throughout different points in his life.
1. Oh No!

_I know exactly what I want and who I want to be_  
_I know exactly why I walk and talk like a machine  
I'm now becoming my own self-fulfilled prophecy_

- Marina & the Diamonds, _Oh No!_

* * *

The fire crackling around him sounded distant as he wrapped his hands around the hilt of the dagger. Turning it back and forth, he stared at it in wonder, mesmerized by the orange light dancing across the blade and its elegant inscription. He could _feel_ the power in it, buzzing in his fingers.

This was it. The answer.

A nearby crash of falling woodwork reminded him that celebration could wait. He fled, a thief in the night, clutching the dagger to his chest as he stumbled through the dark woods until he could no longer see the bloody red glow of the burning castle.

Holding out the dagger, he took a moment to admire the silver gleam of moonlight reflecting off it before calling out the name. He felt a rush of magic, and there, standing before him, was the Dark One.

The magic had felt _so good_, and it only stiffened his resolve to go through with his plan. By the time he realized _who_ the Dark One was, it was too late. He watched with horror as his skin became grey-gold, racing up his arms, overtaking him, and he felt a brief moment of regret so profound he wanted to weep. But then the magic came, sparking along his new skin and popping behind his eyes like fireworks, and he forgot that there was anything about his decision to regret.


	2. Money To Be Made

_Put up your barricades  
There's money to be made  
Continue your charade  
Money to be made  
What you're asking for means the world to me  
You draw close as you whisper precisely  
Precisely  
_

- The Hoosiers, _Money To Be Made_

* * *

The portal roared beneath them, lighting up the forest with its hungry green glow. The last time Rumpelstiltskin had felt terror like this, it was just before he'd cut and run from the Ogre Wars. In his bones, he knew that he wasn't going to go through with this deal because _gods_ was he afraid. His blood was frozen in his veins, he couldn't breathe, he could barely _think_.

Bae was screaming at him, pleading with him, _come with me dad come with me_, and he wanted to, he wanted to be brave and be a dad and _if only that light weren't so bright or that noise so loud maybe I wouldn't be so scared_

Rumpelstiltskin's grip was slipping, he could feel his son's fingers sliding away, but he couldn't let go of the dagger, he _couldn't_ because it kept him safe, it gave him power, it kept his back straight and his shoulders squared.

But he couldn't hold both.

The air was suddenly deathly quiet, and he was alone in the crater the portal had left behind.

There was that regret again, but he replaced it with anger as quickly as he could, because anger hurt less. He decided that he hated the world and everyone in it (_including himself_).

He used bitterness to pull himself to his feet and resentment to walk with. He was the Dark One. It was time to start acting like it.


	3. Exile Vilify

_You've got sucker's luck  
Have you given up?  
Does it feel like a trial?  
Does it trouble your mind the way you trouble mine?  
Does it feel like a trial?  
Did you fall for the same empty answers again?_

- The National, _Exile Vilify_

* * *

The halls of his considerable estate had never felt so empty. He'd always known his castle was big, that was kind of the _point_ of having a castle. And he'd always been the only one living here – well, almost always. It wasn't any emptier than it had been before.

But it was. It really, really was.

He tried spinning, but he started thinking about how she would sit beside him and read to him as he worked, and then he completely lost focus and spent the next couple of hours trying to untangle himself from gold thread and straw.

Alchemy wasn't a proper escape either, he decided as he regarded the crater where the west wing used to be.

So he found himself sitting at the head of his oak dining table, arms folded under his chin as he stared miserably at that stupid teacup.

_an empty heart and a chipped cup_

He tightened his hands into fists. What did she know anyway? Nothing, that's what.

_only how to make his tea just the way he liked it and how to get those blasted stains out of his clothes without having to use magic and how to make him smile even if he was having a bad day and_

Dropping his forehead to the solid wood, he folded his hands over the back of his head.

_stop it just stop it she's dead stop it_

He wasn't sure how long he sat like that, but by the time he looked up, the moon was rising over the mountains. Its silvery light flowed across the room like liquid, making everything look cold and unwelcome. He supposed he should start a fire, but couldn't bring himself to stand up. Instead, he put his head back down and slept. He knew his back would ache in the morning, but he was too tired from not-caring to give it any thought.


	4. Devil's In The Detail

_I failed to see the flaws in the details I adored  
And played god, I played god  
Said oh my god, the devil's in the detail  
Oh lord, I just didn't look there_

- The Hoosiers,_ Devil's In The Detail_

* * *

He stared blankly at the maps laid out on the countertop. There was one for every state and a few for other countries. He'd almost been looking forward to it – not just going to find Bae, but to see all these places he had read about. Being trapped in Storybrooke for all this time would have slowly driven him insane, but his ultimate mission to track down his son kept him steady.

But now…

He stood stiffly at the counter, teetering dangerously. His mind had gone completely blank. The man known for his constant scheming couldn't summon a simple thought, couldn't comprehend.

A map of Maine caught his eye, and he snapped. He whirled his cane around, forgetting in his rage that he had a lame leg. The glass countertops were the first to go, and then he spun and dragged the cane across the nearest shelf. Everything breakable in his path was broken. He probably would have wrecked the entire shop, but his leg gave out on him and he tumbled to the floor. A few shards of broken glass sliced through his palms, but he scarcely noticed the pain. All he could do was sit with his back against the ruined counter, his legs stretched out in front of him and his cane lying forgotten a few feet away.

Finally, he felt his brain creak into gear. He absentmindedly picked the glass out of his hands and healed the cuts as the cogs began to pick up speed. There had to be a way around this. He might not have seen this hitch coming, but he'd faced hitches before. Perhaps never one quite so… hitch-y, but the curse was broken and his magic was back.

He could do this. He _had_ to do this.

Slowly, he picked himself up off the floor and set about cleaning up his shop.


	5. Bones & Skin

_You've got pain, caused plenty of  
It's not so strange but now you've had enough  
Don't forget your bones and skin  
Or where you go, or where you've been_

- Mirah, _Bones & Skin_

* * *

Orange leaves tumbled down the main road in the crisp autumn wind, swirling around his feet as he limped along the sidewalk. He wore a heavy black overcoat, his collar turned up against the chill and his chin tucked into his thick burgundy scarf. The cold never really agreed with him, and especially not with his leg.

The front steps were a bit of a trial, but the warmth of the library interior was a welcome relief. Tugging off his leather gloves and stuffing them in his pocket, he breathed deeply. There was something truly soothing about the library – the dry smell of old paper, the cozy atmosphere, the comfortable silence. Or maybe it was just the aura that Belle left in her wake that he found so cathartic.

She was sitting behind the reception desk, a stack of books beside her. There was another in her hand, and she'd been in the process of re-entering it into the system when he'd walked in. He made his way over, his knee creaking in protest as he stopped in front of her. Arching an eyebrow at him, she asked, "Something I can help you find?"

"Ah, yes," he said, readjusting his grip on his cane. "I believe it's called 'How To Get The Girl Of Your Dreams To Go To Lunch With You.' Do you have it?"

Her lips twitched upward in a sly grin. "Perhaps. It's probably right next to 'Make It Hamburgers And She'll Think About It.'"

He grinned back at her. "I rather like the sound of that one."

"Excellent," she replied with a touch of self-satisfaction, pushing away from the desk. "Just let me get my jacket and I'll help you find it."

A few moments later, they emerged from the library together, her arm hooked through his. Though it looked like she was leaning on him, it was actually the other way around. She could tell when his leg was particularly bothersome, and always did her best to help. Were it anyone else, the assistance would have made him feel old and infirm, but with her warmth pressed against his side and her sweet laughter ringing in his ear, he didn't mind at all.

They strolled down the sidewalk towards Granny's, their breath pluming in the chilly air and leaves kicking up around them in the wind. As she chatted cheerfully about her day, he smiled down at her and dared to hope that maybe he could get his happy ending after all.

* * *

_This last song is the one that the title came from. Speaking of which, I highly recommend all music used in this piece. Word of warning, there are one or two that may make you cry. If you're in the mood for that sort of thing, I especially recommend Exile Vilify. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed your stay!_


End file.
